While You Were Sleeping
by wedontstandachance
Summary: The one where Castiel is a nurse and most definitely does not have a crush on his patient. His patient who may or may not be in a coma. Nope. No way. Okay, maybe a little? It was all Sam's fault, really. And to think, he used to be so professional.


**AN: I feel obligated to preface this by saying that my medical knowledge is limited, as was the research I did to write this. The only knowledge that I do have from the inner workings of hospitals comes from when I spent ten days there with my dad while he recovered from surgery, so this is going off of my own experiences. Good thing the medical business doesn't have to be strictly accurate for the enjoyment of this story.**

**I hope you like it!**

* * *

><p>Castiel sat in the hospital break room hunched over his steaming cup of coffee with drooping eyelids. He had just finished his shift as a nurse at Saint Mary's Medical Center, and he was exhausted.<p>

Actually, he was beyond exhausted, but they hadn't yet created a word to describe that particular feeling; or maybe they had and he was just too tired to remember it.

He'd been up and on his feet for nearly sixteen hours at this point, and he could hardly wait to get home and collapse into his bed and just be dead to the world for a few hours. He sighed happily just thinking about it.

He didn't sleep much — usually no more than four or five hours a night — but coming off a long shift like this when he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before either, well, sleep was his friend at times like these. His very, very best friend.

He gingerly lifted up his paper coffee cup and brought it to his lips, taking a long pull. Coffee was also his friend; maybe more so than sleep, seeing as they saw one another far more frequently. And while the coffee in the hospital break room wasn't anything to write home about (it was actually disgusting), it would do at this current moment in time. Because really, at this point he would probably inject it directly into his veins if it meant keeping him awake long enough for him to be able to drive home.

In his book, even bad coffee was better than no coffee. No coffee was his own personal flavor of Hell.

Out of every human creation in this world, he was most thankful for coffee. He said a silent prayer to God to thank him for creating such a magnificent thing, and took another long sip. He only grimaced slightly at the taste, a general improvement from the gagging that sometimes took place while he was drinking it.

He again mulled over the idea of buying a decent coffee maker for the break room, but that idea quickly died like it always did because they didn't pay him nearly enough for him to supply a new and better machine. So he would suffer in silence. Unless of course he encountered another worker from this floor; and then he would suffer vocally, and with said other person.

There was no small talk of the weather, or sports, or what you did over the weekend on the fourth floor of Saint Mary's. It was all woes about the coffee machine. It helped to create a sense of solidarity amongst the long-term-floor nurses.

In the pocket of his scrubs, his cellphone began to vibrate. He placed down his coffee cup (a bit begrudgingly) and extracted it. One look at the caller I.D informed him that Anna — another nurse at the hospital, and somewhat friend—was the one calling. The corners of his mouth turned down in a frown as the prospects of him going home to his bed slowly evaporated before his eyes. Because he already knew why Anna was calling him.

_Oh well_, he thought resignedly. _I can sleep when I'm dead._

He hit talk. "Hello, Anna."

"Castiel!" she greeted him, sounding frazzled. "I need to ask you a _huge_ favor. Inias has to work late, and I have no one to look after Hayley. I know you just finished your shift, but I was wondering. . ."

Anna's husband Inias was a firefighter. He usually worked days while Anna worked nights, this way someone could always be home with their five year old daughter, but sometimes their schedules coincided. And that's when she called Castiel.

"You'd like me to cover your shift," he finished for her.

She sighed on the other end of the phone. "Would you mind?" she asked guiltily. Castiel could picture her face in his mind; pleading eyes, sheepish smile. How could he say no? He couldn't. And he never did.

"No, I wouldn't mind," he told her earnestly. "You have a family to take care of. I don't. It's not a problem." And it wasn't.

"Ugh, Castiel, you're a life saver!" she gushed. "This will be the last time. I promise!"

He smiled tiredly. She had said that the last seven times as well. But he didn't mind, really. What would he do when he went home? Sleep for a few hours. Maybe read a little. But overall, he'd just be biding his time until he would have to come back here.

His job was his life, and he supposed he was what you would call a 'workaholic'. He had no close family — except Gabriel, but he was wholly unreliable and his visits sporadic — he lived alone, and he didn't have many friends. The only thing that he had waiting for him back at his apartment was his calico cat, Clarence. But even he had food and water, and was more or less self-sufficient. Cats were good like that.

Of course, Clarence would be a bit upset with him after he came home for being away so long, but he could easily fix that with a few hours of petting.

Helping people was his passion —no, his _purpose_— and he was content with the life he lived. Because it was the life he chose. Sleep could wait. Sleep could always wait when it came to his job. That was why they had invented caffeine after all.

Anna thanked him a few more times, and then he bid her a farewell and hung up. He took another sip from his coffee, relishing the warm feeling it left him with (even if it was truly awful in taste). He needed it.

This would be his third double shift of the week. He may not have slept much to begin with, but he was really running on fumes as it was. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments. Then he took a deep breath and got up to brew a fresh pot of coffee and prepare himself for his next shift.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Missouri, the head nurse for the night shift, was sitting at the nurses' station when Castiel emerged from the break room. He headed behind the counter to retrieve his patient chart — or rather Anna's patient chart, but he'd covered her shift so many times now that he began to see them as his patients too — and begin his rounds. She looked up at him when he came behind the desk rather than heading across the hall to the elevator bank.<p>

"Castiel, what are you doing, honey? I thought your shift was over," she addressed him, knitting her eyebrows together.

He simply shrugged and gave her a knowing smile.

She made a tsk-ing sound and frowned. "Covering for Anna again? One of these days you're gonna have to get that girl to return the favor."

"I don't mind," he said, picking up Anna's chart and flipping through it briefly.

Missouri pursed her lips, trying to portray her disapproval. "I know you don't. You're a regular angel if you ask me. One of the best of 'em."

Castiel suppressed a smile. "I'm just doing my job," he said in reply.

"Mhm," she hummed narrowing her eyes. He returned her stare for a moment, and then she shook her head and turned back to her work. Castiel took that as his cue to leave.

* * *

><p>From there, Castiel headed off on his rounds; administering medications, refilling water pitchers, and making sure all of the patients were comfortable.<p>

His last stop was an old woman named Shelia who was suffering from Alzheimer's. She had recently fallen down and broken her leg, and she was with them until she could be moved to a rehab facility.

He smiled at her warmly as he handed her the pills and a cup of water.

"Good evening, Shelia. How are you?"

She gazed at him lovingly. "You're so pretty, Charles," she sighed.

Castiel gave her a small smile and nodded. It wasn't worth correcting her. If it made her happy to think he was this 'Charles' then he would. And even if he did correct her, it's not like she'd even understand or remember.

He refreshed her water, and told her he would see her again in a few hours on his second round. She nodded absently, her attention having shifted to the TV mounted on the wall across the room.

* * *

><p>He didn't go right back to the nurses' station when he was done. Instead, he paused outside of room 401. This patient wasn't Anna's, so he wasn't technically on his list for the night, but that didn't stop Castiel from wanting to check on him anyway.<p>

It wasn't completely rational, seeing as he'd just checked on him at the end of his previous shift just a little over an hour ago, and he had another nurse for the night — Sarah — but that didn't stop him either way.

He hovered in the doorway for a moment. The light in the room was out, but it's not like it mattered much anyway. Seeing as the patient lying in the bed was in a coma. And he had been for almost two months.

Dean Winchester was his name, and he had been Castiel's patient since he'd been admitted.

Castiel flicked on the light and entered the room, making a beeline for the chair next to Dean's bed, which over the past few weeks had become somewhat of his usual spot. That was, when his brother Sam wasn't seated in it during the day.

"Good evening, Dean," Castiel said in greeting. (He had been calling him _Mr. Winchester_, but stopped out of insistence from Sam. "Mr. Winchester is our father," he'd said. "Dean would cringe if he heard you call him that.")

Dean had been the unfortunate victim of a car crash, you see. He'd been driving one night with his father and younger brother when a semi-truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and drifted into their lane. Dean had had to swerve to miss him, slamming into a tree as a result. John and Sam, his father and brother, walked away with minor injuries. Sam had broken his arm, and John had a cut on his forehead that required stiches, but that had been the extent of their injuries.

Dean on the other hand hadn't been so lucky, taking the brunt of the impact.

It appeared to be possible that he might have done that on purpose. That he might have angled the car _just so_ that the front driver's side took most of the hit. Maybe he'd been trying to protect his family. Maybe it had just been chance. No one was really sure. And they wouldn't be until Dean woke up and could tell them himself.

If, rather. If he woke up.

He'd hit his head pretty hard during the crash, and slipped into a coma sometime before EMTs had arrived at the scene. And he had been that way ever since. He'd also suffered from a broken collar bone and a large amount of cuts and bruises.

However, he was improving; slowly but surely. His bones were reforming together, the cuts healing, bruises fading. His ventilator had even been removed some time ago, and he was able to breathe on his own again. So that was something at least. That was promising. He was still attached to an IV and a catheter, those things couldn't be avoided. But beside that, everything was looking good. He was healing up nicely.

All he needed to do now was wake up.

Castiel didn't bother waiting for the response that he knew wouldn't come. He was in the medical field after all, meaning that he was practical. Or, at least he tried to be in most cases. You could hope and pray for someone to recover, but faith only got you so far. That being said, and while he knew better, there was still a brief moment that held a glimmer of anticipation. But Dean stayed silent and unconscious as always. And Castiel moved forward.

"Your brother was in today. Bobby too for a little while," he said. "Your father stopped by as well, surprisingly. Sam left the room while he was though, unsurprisingly."

Castiel had taken an interest in Dean right away. And that was because of one thing. His family. Castiel could smell a dysfunctional family a mile away, and boy oh boy did Dean have one.

Now the reason that Castiel was so drawn to the Winchester Clan after figuring this out was because he knew a thing or two about dysfunctional families, and even though Dean was comatose, he almost felt a sort of kinship with him over it. But unlike Dean, Castiel was estranged from his family. He hadn't seen or spoken to them in years. Except Gabriel, but he was different. That was different.

It didn't take long for him to realize that Dean was most likely the glue that held John and Sam together. Castiel could see the tension radiating off the pair the second he'd met them. After that, it was just a waiting game to see when the bomb would go off.

The drama erupted soon after Dean had been admitted. It was right after the car accident when the prospects of Dean waking up were brighter.

John had been the dutiful father at first; sitting by Dean's bedside, talking to doctors, the whole nine. Now Castiel — having spoken to Sam and learned more about the lives of the Winchesters — realized that he must have felt guilty for all time that he missed while his sons were growing up, and was trying to make up for it with that.

John was there at Dean's side every day. He only left briefly sometimes to go into work and check on things — at an auto repair shop he owned with his friend, Bobby. Sam barely left during the daylight hours at all; only going home once visiting hours were over and he got kicked out. He was a college student at Stanford and was currently in the middle of his summer break.

There was also Jess, Sam's girlfriend, who had been there at the beginning. She'd had to go home to see her own family after the first month though. Her sister was getting married and she was the Maid of Honor. She'd offered to stay with Sam, but he'd insisted that she go. "Your sister needs you there now," he'd told her. "We'll be fine."

Castiel knew that Sam harbored a deep sense of guilt over the crash. He and John had been fighting when the semi had drifted into their lane — that apparently wasn't unusual. Dean had been trying to defuse the tension — that wasn't unusual either — and had been distracted and taken his eyes off the road for a moment. When he'd turned back to the road, the truck had been headed straight toward them. Slamming into that tree was probably his last ditch effort to save them. An eighteen wheeler would have done a lot more damage than one tree.

The day that John and Sam had their first fight in the hospital was somewhat early on, only about a week and a half after the crash. Castiel had been at the nurses' station, which was conveniently located directly next to Dean's room, and he'd heard the whole thing. They hadn't been speaking quietly.

It started when John mentioned that he wanted to sell the Impala — Dean's beloved car, Castiel learned later — for parts. Sam had immediately disagreed, saying absolutely not and that Dean would be pissed as hell when he woke up and found out.

"He'll want to fix it himself," Sam had said. To which John had replied that it was Dean's own fault for crashing the damn thing in the first place. John had given Dean that car as a gift, and apparently he thought that the crash was in fact, Dean's fault.

That comment had earned a pretty ugly fight. Security had almost gotten involved, but Castiel had managed to diffuse the tension himself. He was rather good at dealing with family spats.

After that, John had stormed out. Then he'd started coming in less, claiming that he was needed at work — even though Bobby had things handled — only stopping by once a day for a few hours at a time. Even at the time, both Sam and Castiel knew that was a lie.

And then days started passing, and then weeks, and then a month; and Dean still hadn't woken up.

While John started to lose his resolve, Sam turned to steel. While John argued with nurses and doctors, Sam was there acting as a quiet fixture in the room, sitting next to Dean's bed and holding his hand. While John started drinking himself into a stupor most nights, Sam went home and fell into bed, emotionally and physically exhausted from having spent his entire day in the hospital by his brother's side.

Sam and Castiel didn't talk much then. He didn't even talk much to John. In fact, John barely even looked at Castiel and only spoke to him when absolutely necessary. As he learned more about John, Castiel had to assume that this was because he looked down on the fact that he was a male nurse.

John Winchester reminded him somewhat of his own mother in that regard. How quaint.

Every time Castiel would enter Dean's hospital room, he could almost feel the tension in the air between father and son. As the time passed, John started spending less time at the hospital, and each time he showed up he looked more worse for wear than the last; dark, heavy bag under his eyes, unshaven, looking like he hadn't showered in days. Sometimes he reeked of booze.

Then the big fight happened.

It was during visiting hours in the middle of the day. It was a Wednesday, Castiel recalled.

He had only caught the end of it, before security had come to escort John out. But from what he'd witnessed, John and Sam had been screaming at each other in the hallway. It was about Dean. That much he could tell.

"He wouldn't want to live like this, Sam!" John had yelled. Castiel had just rounded the corner, coming from checking on one of his other patients.

"How would you know?" Sam shot back. "We haven't exactly talked about it. And even if we had, you wouldn't have been there, Dad! Because you weren't around!"

John remained stone faced, glaring at his youngest son. "I am the father! I'm the one who has to make the call!"

"I will never forgive you," Sam growled.

"Sammy. . ." John's tone softened. Almost like he was pleading.

"Don't," Sam snapped. "Dean is the only one who gets to call me that."

Then almost as quick as it came, John's softness was gone. His face contorted in rage and he clenched his fists at his sides.

But before either of them could say or do anything else, John was led away by bulking men in hospital security uniforms, and Sam went back into Dean's room with a warning that if there were any more disturbances he'd be gone too.

That was early on in Deans stay, when he still had the breathing tube in. Castiel knew the doctors had been in a few times talking about considering the option of taking it out, letting the cards fall where they may. It appeared John had been considering it. Sam wasn't pleased. From then on, when John was there, he and Sam didn't talk. Or, they only spoke to each other when they had to.

Castiel had hated that week. He'd spent it walking on eggshells around them, not wanting to step on a conversational land mine.

It was about a week after John and Sam's fight that Dean began improving almost all at once. As if he had heard them. As if he was trying to get rid of the thing that had caused their fight in the first place.

His breathing tube came out, and John all but disappeared completely. After that, he'd only stop by for a few minutes at a time, and usually at the very end or very beginning of visiting hours when Sam was more likely not to be there. He'd spend that time staring down at his son's body — Dean's chest rising and falling — frowning.

That was why it had been so surprising for Castiel — and the majority of the nursing staff on the floor, as they were all awful gossips — that John had shown up in the middle of the day today, when he knew that Sam would most certainly be there.

He'd entered the room when Castiel was in the middle of checking Dean's vitals. It got silent so abruptly that Castiel could have sworn he could hear a pin drop. Sam and Bobby were standing off by the window, out of the way and giving Castiel space to work. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam tense up, and Bobby shift on his feet awkwardly. And then there he was in the doorway in all his glory, the infamous John Winchester.

He was looking far better than the last time that Castiel had seen him about a week before; showered, clean clothes, the whole nine. He was, however, looking extremely uncomfortable. His eyes were downcast, focusing on the floor somewhere near Castiel's feet.

Bobby cleared his throat. "John," he said, greeting him with a nod.

John looked up at Bobby gratefully. "Hey, Bobby. Uh, Sam." He nodded in Sam's direction awkwardly.

Sam stood by the window with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw was clenched and he was staring daggers at his father.

John looked down again and cleared his throat. "It's, uh, my, uh, lunch break. And I figured I'd pop in. See how Dean was doing. I haven't been down in a few days." His eyes shifted to Castiel. "So, uh, how's my boy?"

"No further improvement," Castiel said. "It's a waiting game, you understand. If he's going to wake up, he'll do it when he's ready."

"_When_," Sam interjected forcefully. "When he wakes up. Not 'if'. He's going to wake up." His glare was now fixed on Castiel.

Castiel nodded and help up a hand. "Of course, I apologize. When, rather, he wakes up, it'll be on his own accord."

John nodded absently. "Hm, yeah. Okay. Thanks, Doc—uh, nurse." Castiel only narrowed his eyes slightly at the slip. John paused hesitantly. "Sam, can we talk outside for a minute?"

Sam's icy glare was immediately shifted back to John. Bobby's eyes widened, and even Castiel raised an eyebrow.

After a long, tense moment, Sam gave a curt nod. "Yeah. Okay." He pushed himself off the wall, and he and John disappeared out into the hallway.

Once they were gone, Bobby let out a sigh. "Those two are gonna kill each other one day," he said shaking his head. Castiel hummed in agreement.

Sam came back into the room when Castiel was finishing up. His eyes were wild. He stalked over to the chair beside Dean's bed and threw himself down in it. They had just fought again, Castiel could tell. It was written all over him.

He moved to Sam's side, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sam looked up at him with a small smile.

"Thanks, Castiel," he said in appreciation. "He just—ugh." He scrubbed on angry hand over his face. "He just doesn't get it. He doesn't know how to be a father anymore. He hasn't for a long time." He said it wearily. Like every interaction he had with John took everything out of him.

Castiel could relate.

Sam and Castiel's friendship had begun soon after the first fight between him and John. After spending so much time alone with his unconscious brother, Castiel figured Sam must have been getting lonely.

Sam talked to Dean all the time. He was constantly talking; telling Dean about school, talking about their friends and family — even though he hadn't spent much time with them as of late, although they did visit sometimes — talking about what he wanted to do when Dean woke up, the places he wanted to visit while he was still on break. Sometimes he read to him. Only Dean's favorites of course; The Lord of the Rings series, Vonnegut, The Harry Potter series, surprisingly.

But mostly, Sam talked about their childhood, and what it was like growing up with Dean.

He talked about growing up with their uncle, who wasn't actually an uncle at all. Bobby Singer was rather a family friend and somewhat of a surrogate father, since their own father had spent a lot of time away after their mother had died in a nursery fire when Sam was only six months old and Dean was four. A nursery fire that Dean had ran his brother out of and to safety.

Castiel remembered feeling sad when he'd learned about that. And it wasn't just because of the tragic death of their mother and the disintegration of their happy family; but rather for Dean himself. Because that was a heavy burden to carry, becoming a hero at such a young age. It meant that he had never known anything else. From that moment Dean's fate had been sealed. He was a protector now, and there was no going back. It made Castiel revise his opinion on what had actually occurred during the crash, and on what had been going through Dean's mind right before they'd slammed into that tree.

Castiel learned many things about Dean like this. He'd overhear the stories Sam told while sitting at the nurses' station, or when he was in the room checking on Dean. Sam didn't stop taking just because there was company. Castiel began lingering in his room longer than absolutely necessary, trying to pick up some of the stories Sam was telling. His pull to the Winchesters only grew from there.

Because it was a bit strange for him, being presented with two people who loved one another unconditionally like that, who would do anything for one another. He'd never really experienced that with his own family.

So, yes, Sam liked to talk. He liked to talk to Dean to hopefully let him know he was there; if he could even hear him, (jury was still out on that one since he hadn't woken up yet). And soon enough, he liked to talk to Castiel too while he was in Dean's room. It probably started just to have someone to talk back to him. It got lonely after a while, he knew from experience, not having anyone to answer you.

And Castiel actually liked to listen. Well, he listened to every patient. Most liked to talk, or had family who did, but his interest in them was minuscule in comparison to the way Castiel felt listening to Sam talk about his brother.

So really, it was Sam's fault.

Through each story, Castiel learned more and more about the phenomenal Dean Winchester.

He'd practically raised Sam, taking on the roles of both mother and father, more or less. Bobby had been there to help, and John came around every few months, but it was mostly Dean and Sam against the world.

John was back now, and had been for a few years. No one had been counting on that stay being permanent, they still really weren't. But for the time being he was still around. Well, to a certain extent at least.

However, it was still Dean that Sam looked to for guidance, because he'd been the one wholly permanent fixture in Sam's life. He'd been the one to catch Sam after he'd taken his first step, the one to teach him to read, to drive, how to fix up a car. Sam's first word had even been 'Dean'.

Castiel learned that when Sam wasn't on summer break he was down at Stanford — which Dean worked two jobs to help him pay for — studying to become a lawyer.

Castiel saw a growing friendship with Sam that would hopefully last after Dean's discharge, because he liked Sam; and Dean had been lying in the bed with Castiel as his nurse and Sam by his side for the last two months, and you really get to know a person in that amount of time. So, whenever — or if ever — Dean woke up, Castiel hoped to continue the friendship. But comas were tricky like that, you never knew when — or if — someone was going to wake up. You only could wait it out and hope. Though, if Dean didn't wake up Castiel doubted that Sam would want him around after that. He would only be a reminder of his time spent in the hospital.

In the past, Castiel would have said you just had to wait and pray, but he really wasn't much for praying anymore. He had his family to thank for that.

While Sam talked plenty about himself and his brother, Castiel revealed very little about his own life outside of the hospital. What he did tell Sam was that he had a cat, an obsession with caffeine that would probably someday put him in the hospital himself, and a love for cartoons and classical music. Yes, that was all true, but he kept his personal life very vague.

That kind of information he generally saved for Dean. When no one was around. Usually in the dead of night while he was on a night shift; covering for Anna. A night like tonight.

He'd started his chats with Dean after some goading from Sam. He asked that Castiel please talk to his brother when he wasn't around so he would know he wasn't alone. And he did it, because it felt good sometimes having someone to talk to that really couldn't talk back, or even hear you necessarily. It was like venting. Clarence was alright to talk to, but talking to a cat was much different than talking to a human being. And it also made him feel like less of a crazy old cat lady. And it didn't matter that he was a man, he was well on his way to possessing the title. He'd just been down at the shelter last week debating on whether or not to get another cat. He'd managed to stall himself for now, but it was only a matter of time before he began itching for more company.

He didn't have very many friends outside of work. None actually unless you counted his brother Gabriel, the only member of his family that Castiel still talked to. But he had a habit of disappearing to only god knows where, and popping back up when and where you'd least expect him.

Castiel felt that Dean was safe to talk to; that he was someone who could relate.

Castiel's inconvenient infatuation had been an unintended side effect to all of this.

Well, he wasn't exactly sure if he'd call it an infatuation. To be quite honest, he was a bit star struck by him if anything. He'd heard so many remarkable things about him from Sam that he'd come to view him as a sort of quasi-celebrity. Even though he'd been up close and personal with him. Extremely personal. Coma patients couldn't exactly bathe themselves. But don't go getting any ideas. Castiel was a professional, not a pervert. Even if Dean happened to be very attractive.

His initial pull towards Dean Winchester had been because of his family. Then it was his almost all at once improvement. And then finally because of the stories he heard from Sam. And before he really knew what was happening much to his dismay, he developed a crush. An infatuation. An annoyance.

At first, Castiel only knew things that his medical chart told him. I.e., Name: Dean Winchester. Date of birth: 1/24/78. Height: 6'1". Weight: 175. Status: Comatose. And also the fact that he was _very _attractive. But now he knew more about him, he knew things that mattered, and that just made him that much more fascinating.

Really though, it was more just like a little daydream. Everyone did it. You see someone walking down the road, or on the train, or in the supermarket, and you think: What if? What if they were my someone? And you just start imagining it. You don't even really believe that anything will possibly come of it. In fact, you know nothing will. And that doesn't even matter, because sometimes it just helps. To think, what if?

But that didn't stop him from feeling guilty about it when he was left alone with his thoughts for too long. Because Dean was a patient, and in a coma, and Castiel was tentatively friends with his brother. But tonight he was tired enough as it was, and he didn't need to go and add that to his plate. He could feel guilty about it again in the morning; in the cold, harsh light of day like any normal person.

"How was your day, Dean?" Castiel asked him. The room was silent save for the beeping of the machines that Dean was hooked up. He hadn't been expecting an answer, after all.

"Mine was long, and I'm very tired." He folded his hands in his lap and rested his head against the back of the chair. "Gabriel called last night. He's coming to visit soon, he says. He says a lot of things though, so he'll probably end up climbing through my apartment window in the middle of the night two months from now. I just hope he doesn't knock over all my flower pots this time." He paused to consider. "Have I told you about that?"

Gabriel was the only family that he still spoke to, or that still spoke to him. He'd been smart and gotten out early.

Once Gabriel had turned sixteen, he'd disappeared. One day they had all woken up and he was simply gone. Without a trace. His parents had gone through the normal channels, had the cops search for him, hung up posters, Gabriel's face on milk cartons, that sort of thing. They'd never been able to find him though. Castiel had only been eight at the time, and hadn't expected to ever see his brother again.

That was, however, until Castiel had gotten out himself and Gabriel had found him.

Castiel was the youngest you see, the baby. There was Michael, his oldest brother, and the most loyal son. He became a lawyer. Then Lucifer, the dutiful son who loved their parents the most out of all of them. He became a doctor. Then Gabriel, who, well, Castiel really wasn't sure what he did, but when he was home his parents had adored him. It was only when he ran away that Castiel had realized how unhappy he'd been. Then there was Castiel. Baby of the family, Castiel. Precious angel, Castiel.

Now, it may be making his family out to be these awful people, but let's make one thing clear; they could have been much, much worse. They never hit him. Not once. Neither of his parents ever laid a hand on him. They were good, Christian people, and they'd loved him. Until they didn't.

That was the problem.

They were the type of family that said grace before eating, went to church five times a week, and helped the community. On the outside, it all looked pretty good. But on the inside, Castiel wasn't allowed to watch TV. The only book he was allowed to read besides the ones for school was the bible. He'd read it so many times at this point he could probably quote it cover to cover.

After he'd left home, he'd gone to the bookstore and bought one, only to bring it home and burn it. He knew it wasn't right, but it was for purely cathartic reasons. He didn't even have anything against Christianity, just his family. He'd felt kind of guilty about it afterwards. But only kind of.

He lived under a dictatorship for his entire life, and hadn't begun to realize until Gabriel had left.

He'd started fantasizing about all of the freedom Gabriel must have had in his new life. It started with soda. He saw a kid drinking it while he was out with his parents one Saturday at the grocery store. He'd asked his father if they could get some, and he'd immediately said no. They weren't allowed to have sugar. The first thought that had passed through Castiel's head was, _I bet Gabriel's allowed to have soda wherever he is._

That was the first of many of those thoughts that he began having. _I bet Gabriel is allowed to watch TV. I bet Gabriel doesn't have to go to church all the time. I bet . . ._ It went on and on. But he never said any of it out loud. He just began paying more attention, observing. It didn't appear many other people lived like them. Even those who went to their church. He'd see kids after church playing on the big lawn, eating sweets, laughing. All the while he and his brothers stood silent by their parents' side while they spoke to the priest or their friends. He began to resent them and couldn't wait until college.

And when he finally got there, he was amazed. He'd gone as far away as he could get. He'd never experienced such freedom before, and when he went home and was told he had to give it up, well that wasn't happening.

Because, Castiel had made a mistake along the way. He'd chosen to go into the medical field like Lucifer, but unlike him, he'd wanted to become a nurse.

He hadn't told them right away, he was smarter than that. He'd been able to get away with it for the first two years of college while he was taking his general education courses, but eventually they'd found out. And they were not happy about it. Boy, were they not happy about it. He may even go so far to call the night they found out his own personal apocalypse.

He'd almost changed his mind to appease his parents, but didn't. He'd held his ground. Needless to say, they didn't like that.

His next big mistake was being gay. And well that, that he couldn't change.

It had been a big night when his parents found out about the nursing. It was also the night he'd told them he was gay. He decided to get it all out there in one fell swoop, and then deal with the aftermath.

And that was the night he was currently telling Dean about. He'd been leading up to this one for a while now.

He remembered it fondly as The Year Castiel Ruined Christmas. Because he'd been good about it and decided to tell them on Christmas Eve. Because they couldn't very well kick him out on that day being the good Christians that they were, could they? Turns out they could. And they did.

You see, your parents can tell you that they love and are proud of you all they like, but do something they don't agree with and see how they look at you after that. See how they react. Now think about how that makes you feel, their disappointment and dissaproval. Well, Castiel had felt the opposite. He'd felt free.

They'd wanted him to repent, to go and confess his sins; and when Castiel refused, they'd told him to leave.

This was his family. The only people in the entire universe who were meant to love him unconditionally, and they were looking at him like he was the scum of the earth, a denizen from the fiery pits of Hell.

They were telling him to leave and never come back, and his reaction to all of this had surprised even himself.

He smiled when his father told him he was an abomination, and when his mother told him that he had a crack in his chassis. Laughed when they threw his stuff out into the street. He felt giddy. Because, deep down he knew that it had been leading up to this for a long time, building.

Looking back at it now, Castiel recognized that he may have been a little crazed.

After his parents kicked him out, Castiel moved into a shitty shoebox apartment off campus, got a job, and took out loans to pay for school. He'd be paying off loan for the rest of his life he suspected, but it was worth it. He was doing what he wanted with his life. He'd gladly pay for the rest of his life for that freedom.

He'd been exhausted and stressed and lonely, but he'd also been free. He could finally be his own person. It was shortly after that that he gotten Clarence though. The silence became too much.

About five months after leaving home, Castiel had come back to his apartment after a day of classes and a shift at the Gas-N-Sip where he was working, and found Gabriel sitting on his couch watching TV. A pile of candy wrappers was littering the cushion next to him, and Clarence in his lap purring happily as Gabriel pet him.

At first, he'd been scared shitless, not knowing who the hell was in his place since the couch faced away from the door; but then Gabriel had turned around sporting a big grin and a, "Hey, baby brother. How's it hanging?"

He'd surged forward and Gabriel had jumped off the couch, and they'd met in the middle and pulled each other into a bone crushing hug.

He'd asked Gabriel how he had found him. How he had even known that he'd left home.

He'd grinned. "Don't tell me you really thought I hadn't been keeping tabs on you all these years?"

It had been twelve years since he'd last seen his brother. And then there he was, standing in Castiel's tiny living room. It was the first time in a long time that he hadn't felt alone.

Now, he popped in sporadically, more often than not scaring the crap out of Castiel when he did. He was good like that.

Back in the here and now, someone in the doorway to room 401 cleared their throat.

Castiel stopped midsentence, looking away from where he'd been staring out the window and over to the door, finding Sarah standing there and looking amused.

She placed a hand on her hip. "Castiel, do you really think I'm so incapable of doing my job that you have to stay for a double just to protect your patients from me?"

"I—I'm sorry." He stood up and moved away from Dean and toward the door. "I'm covering for Anna, and I finished my rounds, so I just figured I'd pop in. You know that I believe you're good at your job."

She just smiled and punched him lightly on the arm. "I know," she said. "I just like to see you sweat. Shouldn't you be starting your second round though?" she asked.

Castiel glanced at his watch, and oops. Two hours had gone by without him even realizing it.

He nodded. "Yes, I should. Thank you. I guess time just got away from me."

"Mhm," Sarah hummed, tilting her head.

Castiel glanced back at Dean briefly, before giving Sarah a sheepish smile and heading out of the room. Her laughter followed him out. He grimaced slightly. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with what he was doing. A lot of nurses talked to coma patients, but being caught in the middle of telling a personal story. . .

He shook it off and started his second set of rounds.

His patients were all sleeping this time around, and were groggy and annoyed when he woke them up to check on them. No one ever really rested in a hospital. It just didn't happen.

When he finally got back to the nurses' station, he was pretty much dead on his feet. Missouri took one look at him and told him to get the hell out of there and go home.

"No buts, Castiel. You look like the walking dead. Go get some rest. Come back tomorrow. We got it," she commanded gently.

He really liked Missouri. Had he mentioned that?

He didn't argue. He did as he was told and went home; falling ungracefully into bed, where Clarence felt the need to plop down directly onto his head and get comfortable. Either way, he'd never slept better.

* * *

><p>The days passed mundanely after that. He woke up, went to work, came home, read, ate, and went to bed. Day in, day out, every day the same.<p>

Soon enough, another month passed, and the hope of Dean waking up grew dimmer and dimmer.

Summer turned into fall, and Sam decided to take a semester off from school to be there for Dean. But even his steely resolve was beginning to waiver. He hadn't expected it to take this long. Dean had never kept him waiting like this before.

Yes, he put on a brave face at the hospital, but he'd admitted it to Castiel one night when they'd gone out for drinks after visiting hours and Castiel's shift had ended.

Sam just sat there staring down at his drink while he spoke of his fears of Dean never waking up, and in that moment he looked so small.

It was then that Castiel remembered that he _was_ young. Sam was only twenty-two, and he was staring the possible death of his brother right in the face. But to him Dean wasn't just his brother; he was his caretaker, his role model. He was like Sam's father. And Castiel's heart went out to him.

Dean was young too. He was only twenty-six, and far too young to die.

Castiel himself was twenty-eight, but he felt older.

Castiel placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder and told him that everything would be okay, but he wasn't quite so sure anymore either. Talk amongst the doctors and nurses at the hospital hadn't exactly been promising. But he'd never tell Sam that. It wouldn't be right to steal the remaining shreds of his hope out from under him like that.

* * *

><p>Castiel's minor infatuation—or, his minor annoyance — didn't even cross his mind much after that. It wasn't like it affected his daily life; as he said, it was only a daydream.<p>

He poured all of his energy into making sure that Dean was comfortable, that Sam was keeping positive, and telling Dean again and again how much everyone would appreciate it if he woke up when they had their chats.

But he didn't need to tell him that, since everyone who loved Dean was already telling him themselves.

He had tons on visitors. There was the usual Sam, Bobby, and sometimes John. But then there was also a woman and her daughter, Ellen and Jo, Sam had told him. There was a man with a mullet, which Castiel hadn't seen in years. His name was Ash, and he flirted mercilessly with all the nurses. Castiel thought that he may have seen him walk away with Pamela's number, but he also might have been hallucinating.

There was a tall, gangly man named Garth, who would bring in a sock puppet named Mr. Fizzles to try and coax Dean into waking up (which was in fact quite strange). Then there was Benny with his southern drawl, who referred to Castiel as his 'crazy aunt'. He wasn't exactly sure what that was supposed to mean, but he didn't think he liked Benny.

Dean's room always had visitors. It was always full of people who loved him. But he still wasn't waking up.

* * *

><p>It was one day a week or so later when Sam brought it up again.<p>

They were both standing in the hallway while the physical trainer worked with Dean. People who were in a coma for extended period of time had to have their muscles worked regularly to make up for the lack of physical activity.

"Castiel," Sam said quietly, staring at the closed door to Dean's room. "It's been almost four months."

Castiel bit his lip. "It has," he agreed. Three months, thirteen days. Not that he was counting. "Maybe you should go back to school?" he suggested quietly.

Sam shook his head. "No I need to be here. For whatever happens."

"He isn't alone. There's Bobby. Ellen, Jo. . . Your father." He frowned. "I'm sure Jess misses you."

Sam sighed. "I know. She does, but I talk to her every night. And she's gonna come here during the next break." He rubbed a hand over his brow. "I need to be here, no matter what. Just in case—" He broke off.

Castiel nodded in understanding.

"Maybe Dad was right," he said quietly. "Maybe we should have taken the breathing tube out. . . Maybe Dean wouldn't want to live like this, and who even knows if he's gonna wake up ever—"

"Sam," Castiel interrupted him. "That sort of thinking isn't going to do anyone any good. No, you shouldn't have taken out the ventilator, because you brother stopped needing it. All on his own. That is progress. You can't lose hope, because if you do and you go back in there, Dean will be able to tell. You have to stay strong for your brother, alright? He's a fighter. I can tell." Castiel said it all forcefully. He wasn't even really sure where it came from. All he knew was that he couldn't bear to hear Sam talking like that.

Sam considered that for a moment, staring down at his shoe and lightly kicking the molding that lined the bottom of the wall. "Okay," he said finally, looking up to meet Castiel eyes. "You're right. Thank you."

Castiel gave a small smile. "Of course," he said.

"Castiel?" a voice called, interrupting them.

He looked up at caught sight of Kevin, one of the interns, standing by the nurses' station and waving him over. He held up a finger at him to signal that he'd be there in a moment, and turned back to Sam.

"I'll come by to check on you two before my shift ends." He placed a hand on his arm. "Stay positive, Sam."

Sam nodded once. "Alright, see you later." Then he slipped back into Dean's room just as Lisa, the physical trainer, stepped out.

Castiel walked over to Kevin. "Hello, Kevin. What do you need?"

Kevin looked tired and vaguely annoyed. A common look among hospital workers, really.

He sighed. "Mr. Jones is outright refusing to take his medication. He won't even look at me when I'm talking to him. He's too goddamned focused on the TV."

Castiel suppressed a smile at Kevin's aggravation and took the medication from his hand. "I'll take care of it."

Needless to say, Kevin was less than pleased when Mr. Jones immediately took the pills from Castiel and swallowed them. It wasn't Kevin's fault. The trick with Mr. Jones was just that you had to wait until the commercial break to try and talk to him. He was always very engrossed in his cartoons.

* * *

><p>It would be an understatement to say that it surprised everyone the day that Dean woke up.<p>

Sam had gone down to the cafeteria to get some lunch; and Castiel was in the middle of checking his vitals when Dean's hand twitched.

At first, Castiel really hadn't given it much attention. That sort of thing happened sometimes, comatose patients twitching. It didn't necessary mean anything, just muscle spasms, and Sam had been let down more than once because of it.

But then that same hand curled into a fist and flexed its fingers. That caught Castiel's attention. He stared down at the movement, transfixed. And while he was staring down at that hand, a gruff voice said, "What's a guy gotta do to get some pie in this place?"

Castiel's eyes snapped up to Dean's face, and for the first time he caught sight of Dean's alert eyes. They were green, flecked with hints of gold, and brown around the center. They looked so much different than they did when Castiel would check his pupils. They looked alive.

Dean was staring at Castiel, and his face was scrunched up like he'd just woken up from a nap he hadn't realized that he'd been taking.

In that instant, all of Castiel's medical training flew out the window and he was utterly speechless; because for whatever reason he'd pushed the idea of interacting with a conscious Dean so far out of his mind that for a moment, he wasn't sure if this was real.

Luckily, he only decided to be an idiot for about seven seconds, all the while Dean was looking at him expectantly for answers or an explanation for what was going on, before he regained his senses.

"Dean—I mean, Mr. Winchester! You're awake," he started. "You're in the hospital. There was an accide—"

And like Sam had predicted, Dean visibly winced at the formality. "Yeah, I know," he said, effectively cutting him off and getting straight to the point. "I crashed my baby into a tree. Where's Sam? Where's my brother? Is he alright?" A look of worry flashed across Dean's face as he glanced around the room, not doubt looking for Sam.

He retained his memory. That was a good sign.

"Sam's fine. He just went to get some food. He'll be right back," Castiel quickly reassured him. And Dean visibly relaxed. "Your father is fine as well," he added as an afterthought.

Dean blinked for a moment, like asking about John had been an afterthought for him too. "Oh," he said. "Okay. Good."

They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say — which was highly unprofessional on Castiel's part, honestly. What on Earth was wrong with him?

If anything, Castiel was at even more of a loss than Dean was; and he wasn't the one that had just miraculously woken up from a coma. It had never before been this awkward before with one of his patients; which was jarring to say the least, the effect that Dean seemed to be having on him.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, uh, doc, how long have I been out?" he asked.

Castiel tilted his head. "I'm a nurse actually. And, Mr. Winchester—"

Dean grimaced. "Call me Dean, please. Mr. Winchester is—"

"Your father," Castiel finished for him. "Yes. I apologize. Sam told me you didn't like to be called that. It must have slipped my mind."

Dean looked at him strangely for a moment, almost as if he was remembering something. He opened his mouth to say something, but then must have thought better, and closed it again.

But Castiel didn't think too much on that, because speaking of Sam, Castiel should have been going to find him, not standing here and talking to his brother. Dean needed to be looked at by a doctor. Tests needed to be done. They couldn't be sure that him being awake right now was permanent.

But that train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a cup of coffee hitting the floor followed by a quiet, "_Holy shit._"

And there was Sam Winchester standing in the doorway, spilt coffee pooling around his feet, and staring at his brother in absolute shock.

A broad, happy grin broke out across Dean's face. "Sammy!" He immediately tried to get out of the bed and get to his brother. But that quickly proved impossible, seeing as he was attached to at least four different machines. (Also, he hadn't moved his own legs in nearly four months, so even if he had managed to stand up he would have undoubtedly collapsed right to the floor.)

But, he didn't have try too long, because Sam practically lunged at his brother, and Castiel had to step to the side quickly to avoid getting caught in their embrace.

Castiel looked on as Sam clutched at his brother tightly and began crying into his shoulder. Dean looked fiercely determined at he clung right back, like he was willing himself to never, ever leave his brother alone again. To never scare him like that again.

Even if it hadn't been his fault in the first place. But Castiel supposed that that was Dean's protector complex at work.

Castiel slowly backed out of the room in order to fetch Dean's doctor, Dr. Richardson, and to give the brothers some much needed space.

* * *

><p>Dean let out a low whistle. "Four months, huh?"<p>

Sam gave a stiff nod. "Yeah."

"And you were here every day?" he asked. He wasn't happy about that, Castiel could tell.

Sam nodded again.

Dean furrowed his brow. "What about school? What month is it? Shouldn't the semester have started by now?"

Sam looked down at his hand, which was currently clasped tightly in Dean's. "I'm taking time off," he said quietly.

Dean groaned. "Sammy—"

Sam sighed, looking up to meet his brother's eyes. He cut him off before he could start. "Dean, just, I needed to be here, alright? I'll go back next semester, but I just needed. . ." He bowed his head again.

Dean closed his eyes for a long moment, but then nodded once and gave Sam's hand a tight, reassuring squeeze. "It's okay, Sammy," he said. "It's okay."

They were both quiet for a few moments.

"You had someone with you here though, right?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Bobby came when he could. Ellen, Jo, Garth, Ash, Benny, you know." He gestured over to where Castiel stood using the computer on a cart by the door, trying very hard to make it look like he was not in fact eavesdropping. "Castiel was around too. He's been really supportive and stuff. Don't know what I would have done without him." He smiled at him, which Castiel returned.

"Whatever I could do to help," he replied.

Dean's penetrating gaze fell on him, and Castiel held his breathe. He knew it was silly, but Castiel really wanted Dean's approval.

Dean's eyes lingered on him for a long moment, like he was trying to work through something in his head. He pursed his lips, and the room sat in a suspenseful silence. Finally, he gave Castiel an approving nod.

"Thanks, Cas," he said. "For keeping a look out for my little brother. You know, when I, uh, couldn't."

Castiel allowed a small smile to flit across his face. "Of course," he said. "I'm just glad that you're awake. Now you can resume."

Dean just looked at him for a moment before a slow smile spread across his face. And in that moment Castiel knew that he was well and truly fucked.

* * *

><p>Dean's doctor, Dr. Richardson, had been on call at another hospital, and hadn't been available right after he had woken up. Now it was a few hours later, and she'd finally managed to make it over to speak with him.<p>

Castiel was just finishing up his rounds, with Dean's room being his last stop (which he certainly hadn't done on purpose in order to be able to linger in the room longer), and caught the end of their conversation.

It was still strange seeing Dean sitting up in his bed, conscious.

Sam was standing beside Dean, his hand placed on his shoulder as if to ensure that he was in fact solid and really there, listening intently to what Dr. Richardson was saying. Bobby stood a few feet away doing the same. Sam had called him right after Dean had woken up, and he'd rushed right over. Castiel wasn't sure if anyone had called John yet. Or if they were going to.

"Humans are extremely resilient. Especially the brain," she was saying. "You have angels watching over you, Mr. Winchester." She smiled at him warmly.

Castiel may have been imagining it, but he could have sworn Dean's eyes slid to him when she said that.

She went on, "Either way, I want to give you two more weeks of observation at least, just to be sure. Your scans came back clean, but better safe than sorry." She flipped Dean's chart closed. "I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, Dean. Sam. Mr. Singer." She headed towards the door, nodding at Castiel in greeting. "Castiel.

"Amelia," he said nodding back. Dr. Richardson was nice. He liked her from the various exchanges they'd had over the years.

Dean scoffed, calling Castiel's attention back to him. "I've been sleeping for four months. Why in god's name do I have to 'get rest'?" he complained.

"Doctor's orders, Dean," Castiel told him simply. "Now stop complaining."

Dean responded by very maturely sticking his tongue out at him. Which Castiel certainly did not find extremely endearing. Definitely not.

Either way, he excused himself from the room by claiming that Dean was due for meds, which he technically was. He certainly didn't go and hide in the nurses' station. He was a professional after all.

(Or, at least he used to be.)

* * *

><p>They did end up calling John.<p>

Castiel was perched in a chair at the nurses' station filling in a patient's chart when he came barreling out of the elevator. He didn't look at anyone, just rushed directly into Dean's room. Castiel was able to hear muffled speaking, and then a few moments later Sam emerged from the room. Bobby had gone home sometime earlier.

He was shrugging on his jacket, and glanced over at Castiel. "Getting some air," he muttered. Then he disappeared down the stairwell.

Castiel steered clear of Dean's room for the next few hours. He wasn't touching that reunion with a ten foot pole.

However, he did stop by at the end of vising hours to tell Sam that it was time to go. He knew it wasn't fair, but it was hospital policy.

He paused outside of the room, hearing soft voices filtering out into the hallway.

Sam was speaking. "I need to ask you a question. It's about the accident."

"Shoot."

Sam took a breath, like he was preparing himself. "Dean, did you—did you hit that tree the way you did on purpose? The police said the way the impact was, it looked like you might have—"

Dean interrupted him with a groan. "C'mon, Sam."

"Dean," he insisted.

It was quiet for a long moment, and Castiel knew that he was trespassing on a private conversation. But he couldn't bear to pull himself away.

When Dean spoke again his voice was barely about a whisper, and Castiel had to strain to hear it.

"I had to look out for you, Sammy. That's my job."

Sam made a sound that was between a gasp and a sob. "You could have died, Dean!"

Castiel backed away from the room slowly, feeling immensely guilty for having eavesdropped. He'd given them a few more minutes. They had a lot to talk about.

* * *

><p>After a few days, Dean finally convinced Sam to go home and relax. Or rather, to at least sleep in a little bit and just come in for the afternoon. It had taken <em>a lot<em> of convincing.

But then that had left Dean and Castiel alone when Castiel went in to check on him. Or, rather, when Dean had just pressed the call button continuously because he was bored and wanted company.

He noticed the light flashing above Dean's door that signaled to the nurses that he needed something; and when Castiel walked into his room, he found Dean sitting cross-legged on his bed dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white V-neck, with his remote in his hand and his thumb repeatedly clicking the call button.

He leaned against the doorframe doorway and crossed his arms. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Ahem."

Dean stopped and looked up at him sheepishly. "Well, took you long enough."

"It took me forty-five seconds, maybe."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Details."

Castiel snorted. "What do you need?"

Dean dropped his hands against the mattress. "Company. I'm bored out of my freaking mind."

Castiel tipped his head toward the stack of books on Dean's over-bed table that Sam had brought in. "Why don't you read?" he suggested.

"I've read all those a million times," he groaned. "Please hang out with me for a little while?" He looked up at him hopefully.

Castiel shook his head in amusement. "I suppose I have a few moments to spare." He was technically about to take his break, but he supposed he could take it here. What was the harm in keeping him company for a while? And it wasn't like he had it in him to say no to him either.

It was still early on in the day, and Castiel expected that he'd have a hoard of visitors as the day progressed. This was probably one of the only quiet moments that Dean would have until visiting hours ended that night.

Castiel took his seat in the chair beside Dean's bed. Dean shifted his body so that he was leaning against the pillows.

They sat in a companionable silence for a few moments watching the TV that was mounted on the wall. There was some early morning talk show on.

"Is it true that people in comas have a sense of awareness?" Dean asked after a few moments.

Castiel looked over at him. Dean was looking back at him, his expression making it look like he'd been mulling over that question for a while. Probably since he'd woken up.

"That's what they say. You'd be the best person to ask though, seeing as you're the one who just woke up from one."

Dean considered that. "I think I could dream," he said finally. "And I think you were in them. Or at least your voice. I think I remember hearing it. A lot?" He said the last part as a question, and he was looking at Castiel expectantly, like he waiting for a confirmation.

Castiel stiffened. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt so uncomfortable. (Except he actually was, but was electing to ignore it instead.) "Well, I was your nurse. I was in here quite often."

Dean shook his head. "No, like I feel like I know you. Like stuff about you? Is that crazy?"

Castiel bit his lip and frowned. Dean was staring at him and something in his expression was kind of desperate. Like he needed Castiel to tell him yes or no. Like it was something that had really been eating at him.

"No," he said quietly, "it's not."

And thankfully, Dean didn't question that. He just looked relieved. He settled back into his pillows, content to let the conversation stand as is, and turned the volume of the TV up.

"You got a great voice, man," he said after a few more moments of silence. "Like gravel or something."

Castiel left shortly after that.

* * *

><p>Castiel went home that night and found Gabriel lying in his bed with Clarence watching House Hunters. Candy wrapped littered the covers. Clarence was purring happily beneath Gabriel's hand. <em>At least he's wearing clothes this time<em>, Castiel thought. Small blessings.

"Cassie!" he cried happily. "Get in here! Erik and Joanne are about to pick their dream home!" Then he looked down at Clarence. "I hope they go with house number two. It has that big kitchen they want. How about you, buddy?" Clarence purred.

Castiel entered the room and fell face first into the pillows beside Gabriel. And stayed like that. Clarence climbed onto his back and began kneading it with his paws. And Castiel was immensely grateful that he'd gotten him declawed.

Gabriel nudged Castiel's leg with his foot. "Who died?" he asked. Then he paused in consideration. "Hm, guess maybe I shouldn't say that. Someone might have actually died given where you work. Did someone die?"

"No," he said into the pillow, his voice muffled. "Just my professionalism and my resolve."

"Oh," Gabriel said. "And here I thought that this was serious."

* * *

><p>The next day Castiel ran into Charlie, a medical technician, coming out of Dean's room. She was wheeling a machine in front of her. Dr. Richardson had order more tests, and everything had looked good so far. It was a medical miracle, they said.<p>

"Castiel!" she greeted him in her bubbly voice.

Charlie was one of those people who was happy pretty much ninety nine percent of the time. A lot of the time, Castiel found those sorts of people to be exhausting, but he actually liked Charlie.

"Good morning, Charlie," he greeted her.

She stabbed her finger in the direction of Dean's room. "I like him," she said seriously. "He gets all of my references and likes all of my franchises. I gave him my number so we can fan girl over new releases together."

"That's nice," Castiel said.

"He's like my new best friend, seriously."

Castiel nodded and smiled, and he may have been slightly jealous if Charlie wasn't a lesbian and happily engaged to her girlfriend, Gilda. But he was a sensible person, so he wasn't.

(Okay, he was still kind of jealous.)

* * *

><p>"So how close was I? To death, I mean," Dean asked a few days later.<p>

Sam was currently out getting Dean a cheeseburger and a pie. ("Four months, Sammy. I've gone _four months_ without real food!" "Dean, you were unconscious." "I don't care. Get me some pie, goddammit!") Castiel had just finished taking Dean's vitals and was filling the results into his chart.

He stopped what he was doing, and turned to look at him curiously. "Not very, I don't think. You are very strong, Dean. I doubt you would have gone down without a fight."

Dean nodded, his eyes drifting around the room. They stopped on Castiel, and he tilted his head in consideration. Then he got a funny look on his face and broke out into a sly smile. "Well, I guess it wouldn't have been too bad, dying here," he drawled. "The nurses _are_ pretty hot."

Castiel nearly snapped his pen in half.

He could be talking about any of the nurses. Anna was quite attractive, as well as a few of the other female nurses on this floor, like Sarah or Pamela or Meg. And he didn't even know if Dean was even interested in men. But Dean generally only saw him, and then Sarah at night; and from the way he complained about being woken up every-goddamn-hour to Castiel when he got there in the morning, he doubted that he got a good look at Sarah when she came in. But with the way Dean was staring at him now and grinning. . .

Castiel clicked his pen shut, and slid it into the pocket of his scrubs. "Is that a flirtation?"

And what did Dean do? He _winked_ at him. Honest to god winked. The room suddenly felt too small.

After that, Castiel quickly made up some lame excuse in order to leave the room, hoping that Dean couldn't see the blush creeping up his neck.

* * *

><p>Castiel had never really considered what might happen to his <em>minor annoyance<em> when Dean woke up.

He really never thought ahead to him actually having to deal with it. He figured that it would just fade away with time. But now here he was, and Dean was awake, and his _minor annoyance_ had somehow, without him noticing, grown into a _slightly larger annoyance_. And it was verging on becoming a _major annoyance_. How had this happened to him?

He needed to talk about it to someone; that was what he needed to do. He needed an outsider opinion of someone telling him that he was a fool. He was too close to the situation to think rationally about it.

He usually talked to Clarence about his problems (or more recently Dean), but this time Castiel actually wanted feedback, and he wasn't going to get that from a cat (and obviously not from Dean). And talking to Gabriel was out of the question, because he would never in a million years give him that kind of ammunition. And he couldn't go to Charlie, because she'd been dying to set him up with someone since they met, and he would no doubt go crazy over this. And Anna had enough to worry about without adding this to her plate.

So that just left one person. Someone that he could be sure would give him blunt and brutal honesty. So he went to her, very reluctantly, but he went.

Meg swiveled around slowly in the sole roley-chair in the break room like she was the Godfather. Castiel was pretty sure that she had brought it in here for that exact purpose too. It seemed like something that she would do.

"Well, well, well, whadda you know. He's not a robot after all."

Castiel rubbed at his eye tiredly. "Meg, please. I need actual advice."

She placed a hand over her heart. "And you come to little ole me? I am flattered." She grinned. And he seriously regretted his decision to come to her. Clarence would have been more helpful.

He stood up abruptly. "If you're going to treat this like a joke then I'm just going to go."

She sighed and sat up in her chair, and then motioned for him to sit back down. Which he did, slowly.

"Don't be such a drama queen. This place is so dull, and I'm dying for entertainment. This is like the most interesting thing to happen here in months, other than when that guy had a seizure in the hallway. So forgive me." Sometimes he really wondered what it was that had made Meg become a nurse, because it certainly wasn't an intense desired that she had to help people.

He propped his elbows up on the table and rested his chin on his hands. He was so tired. He was always tired now. Coming to work was stressful, and with Gabriel at home refusing to sleep on the couch and taking up most of Castiel's bed along with Clarence he could barely get any rest at night.

"I don't know what to do," he said miserably.

"This is really getting to you, isn't it?" she asked, tilting her head in interest.

"Yes!"

Meg rolled her eyes at him like he was being ridiculous. "I'll tell you what you do. You bang the shit out of Ken doll six ways to Sunday. That's what you do." Then she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest with a smug smile on her face like she'd just given him the secrets to the universe.

Castiel made an exasperated noise. "Please be serious."

"I am being serious. What do you want from me? He's hot, you're hot. He'd be blind not to fucking see that. If he has at least half a brain he isn't gonna turn you down."

Castiel looked down, his cheeks reddening. He wasn't used to people claiming that he was attractive.

"You don't mean that," he insisted.

Meg looked him dead in the eye and leaned toward him. She spoke very seriously. "Castiel, if you weren't gay as hell I would have already torn you apart." And then she gave him a wide, toothy grin, looking at him like she was the predator and he was the prey.

He wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to say thank you to that, so instead he just left. Quickly.

* * *

><p>Castiel was the worst nurse ever. It was official.<p>

Certainly he wasn't supposed to develop feelings for a patient, especially one who most of the time he'd known him had been unconscious. Freaking _comatose_. He'd really outdone himself this time. If only his parents could see him now.

The whole thing left him feeling sort of dirty, like he'd been trespassing on Dean's life; even if it was his responsibility and duty to take care of him. It felt like he was breaking some sort of moral code, and while it wasn't technically against the rules to date a patient, most people didn't.

At least that was what the angel on his shoulder was saying.

The devil on the other shoulder had something else to say. And he was more inclined to agree with Meg's take on the matter.

And here was the thing, Dean was leaving in a few days. He was being discharged. And he'd shown interest in Castiel too, hadn't he?

So what was stopping him?

What the hell, why not? Even if he'd completely misread the situation and made a complete fool of himself, it wasn't like he'd see Dean again after he was discharged. Really, _what was stopping him_? Maybe it was time for him to live a little.

Gabriel would probably be proud. If he ever decided to tell him. Maybe if it went well he would.

And thinking back on it, it _was_ quite rude just to walk out on Dean like that. He really should go back and apologize. And maybe return the flirtation. It was only polite.

So, his decision being made, he headed back to Dean's room before he could chicken out.

He rounded the corner and strode down the hallway with purpose in his step. But then he stopped dead in his tracks before even crossing the threshold into room 401.

Because Dean wasn't alone.

There was a blonde girl in the chair next to him. They were both laughing and smiling. There wasn't anything wrong with that necessarily, but she was also holding his hand and Dean was looking at her fondly.

It was like a knife to Castiel's chest.

It took a moment for him to place her as Jo Harvelle. The entire time she'd been visiting with her mother, Castiel had just assumed that they were just family friends. But here she was now, her mother nowhere in sight, sitting close to Dean and holding his hand.

She was his girlfriend, she had to be. It made sense. He was too good looking to be single, and she was also very attractive. And nice from what Castiel could recall from their brief encounters. He was such an idiot.

But that didn't explain why Dean had been flirting with _him_. Especially when he had this beautiful girl. Or maybe he hadn't been flirting at all, and Castiel had actually completely misread the situation. Or maybe he was only flirting with him because he'd been out of commission for so long and wanted to practice. Or maybe he'd just been bored.

Castiel was embarrassed to say the least. So after watching them together for another few excruciating seconds, he turned on his heel, and fled.

He told himself later that he only imagined Dean's voice calling out after him. It was merely wishful thinking on his part.

* * *

><p>If he was being honest, he'd admit that he was in a bit of a bad mood when he got home. (But he wasn't honest. He was in big fat denial that what had happened earlier with Dean was not bothering him.)<p>

He was banging around his kitchen preparing dinner for him and Gabriel, who was surprisingly still there a week and a half after he'd first arrived. That must have been a record.

Gabriel wandered out into the living room wearing only his boxers, and unbeknownst to him, into a danger zone.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, scratching his stomach and yawning.

"Can't you ever wear clothes?" Castiel snapped at him.

"Whoa," Gabriel said, holding up his hands, "what's got your panties in a twist?"

Castiel hadn't had much experience in romantic rejection. Regular rejection, he was an expert: see his entire family as example (minus Gabriel). However, the romantic kind, not so much. And that wasn't because he was some great catch, but rather because he'd never really tried to go after anyone in the past. He never thought it worth his time. And Dean hadn't even rejected him either. It was Castiel's own fault for trying to turn it into something that it wasn't.

"No one," he said. "Nothing."

"Liar," Gabriel said, sitting down at the kitchen table and looking at him expectantly.

Castiel sighed. _Why the hell not?_ he thought. _Let's add this embarrassment to the pile._ And then he told Gabriel everything.

"So go in there and tell that asshat what's up!" Gabriel cried when he was done.

Castiel frowned. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Gabriel demanded.

"Because that's _my work_," he told him.

"Then wait until he gets discharged, follow him out to the parking lot, and _then_ chew him out."

Castiel shook his head tiredly. "No. It's fine. It's not a big deal." Yes, it was. That was a lie.

"Yeah, it is. The guy has a girlfriend and he's flirting with other people. He's an ass. You gotta stand up for yourself, Cas."

Instead of replying to that, he said, "Do you want to get the plates out for dinner?"

Gabriel scowled at him in annoyance, but did as he was asked.

* * *

><p>Castiel didn't end up following Gabriel's advice. As he kept trying to convince himself, he was a professional. And as a professional, he couldn't let his personal issues get in the way of his work.<p>

But either way, that being said, his embarrassment made him distant. He was apparently a bitter bastard. Who knew?

And after going from spending as much extra time in Dean's room as possible, to spending only the minimum amount required to accomplish his work, people began noticing. Dean noticed. Sam noticed. Hell, even Bobby noticed.

However, Dean was the only one who confronted him about it. It only took him a day and a half to say something. It was the day before he was getting discharged.

"Okay," Dean said, grabbing onto Castiel's wrist when he turned to leave the room after checking his vitals. "What's your problem?"

What was his problem? _His problem_?

And then Castiel was suddenly furious at Dean. And not only himself, but for Jo's sake as well. She obviously was quite fond of him, and Dean's flirting with other people. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

He fixed Dean with an icy glare and wrenched his wrist from his grasp.

Dean's face fell and he rubbed at the back of his neck with the hand that Castiel had just pulled away from. "Cas, did I do something to piss you off? If this is about what I said the other day, then I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Castiel tipped his head to the side, still glaring. "Why would I be uncomfortable, Dean? Why would I be uncomfortable with you flirting with me when you have a girlfriend who's clearly cares deeply about you?" Well, that came out much more petulant and bitter than he'd intended. Oh well. It had to be said. Otherwise it probably would have eaten him alive, having to go forward without ever getting the words off of his chest.

Dean scrunched up his face in confusion. "Girlfriend?" he asked. "I don't have a . . ." Then realization dawned on his face, and he was still for a moment before breaking out into a grin.

"Wait a second," he said. "Cas, are you talking about Jo?"

"Who else would I be talking about?" he snapped. "Do you have more than one girlfriend that I should know about?"

And then Dean laughed. Which only served to make Castiel angrier. He glowered at him. "I don't see how this is funny, Dean."

"It's funny because Jo is definitely not my girlfriend, Cas. If anything she's more like my little sister. It's also pretty funny that you thought she was in love with me. I'm gonna love teasing her with that."

_Wait, what?_

A beat of awkward silence stretched between them. And now he was embarrassed.

"She isn't your girlfriend?" he asked slowly, frowning.

Dean shook his head. "Nope," he said with a popping sound.

"Oh," Castiel said. And he should have just kept his mouth shut. This was humiliating.

Dean tilted his head and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Were you jealous?" he asked. Clearly enjoying this much more Castiel would have liked.

Castiel could already feel his cheeks turning red. "I, I mean, I. . ." he stammered.

"It's alright if you were," Dean said. He took a step toward him.

Castiel's mouth went kind of dry and he swallowed hard. He was absolutely speechless for a moment. Dean was looking at him expectantly, and he was suddenly close enough to be invading Castiel's personal space. And he wanted him there. So badly. And Dean was smiling at him, and glancing back and forth between his eyes and his lips. And Castiel wanted to just lean in and close the space between them and—

But before either of them could say or do anything else, Sam walked into the room carrying three coffees in one of those holder things from the hospital's food court. It was the only time that Castiel had ever been unhappy to see him. Even if he had brought him coffee.

* * *

><p>Castiel had the day off the next day when Dean was being discharged.<p>

He decided to come in anyway though, to say goodbye. It hadn't really been much of decision at all actually. Of course he had to say goodbye.

He was glad that Dean would be able to get back to his life. Even if that meant that Castiel wouldn't get to see him every day. Or at all. He really was going to miss him. And Sam.

He walked into Dean's hospital room just as Sam was gathering the last of his things into a duffle bag.

Dean was seated in the chair next to his bed — the chair that had belonged to Castiel on all those quiet nights. He was wearing his street clothes, which was different. He had on a pair of worn jeans and a blue flannel. It was a good look on him. But he was the kind of attractive that he could probably wear a potato sack and look good. He'd certainly made those hospital gowns work for him.

Dean turned his head and spotted him in the doorway. "Hey Cas!"

He smiled. "Hello, Dean. Sam."

Sam waved at him. "Hey, Cas."

"Come to see me off?" Dean asked with a grin. He was going to miss that smile.

Castiel nodded. "Of course. I couldn't let my favorite patient leave without saying goodbye."

"Oh, I bet you stay that to all your patients," Dean accused playfully.

Castiel placed a hand to his heart in mock pain. "How dare you insinuate such a thing."

Sam shook his head and smirked. "I'm gonna go make sure your discharge papers are in order and track down that wheelchair we were promised so we can get going. I wanna get you out of here."

Sam looked downright giddy at the prospect of finally being able to get his brother home. He'd spend the next few months helping Dean get back on his feet, and then he'd return to Stanford for the spring semester. Jess was set to come down the following week and spend time with them as well. Castiel thought back to the Sam from the bar, so sad and without hope. He barely even recognized him now, standing next to his older brother and beaming almost as bright as the sun.

"Freedom!" Dean cried.

Sam exited the room leaving Castiel and Dean alone.

"So," Dean said nonchalantly. "Getting sprung today. You won't be my nurse anymore."

Castiel nodded. "That is true." And he tried not to be so upset about it, because it was a good thing that Dean was getting out. He kept having to remind himself that.

"It's a pity," Dean said. And Castiel's head shot up.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. His heart was hammering in his chest again his ribcage.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno, Cas. I liked seeing you every day. Aren't you gonna miss me?" He was smiling, but there was some apprehension behind his eyes that Castiel caught a glimmer of. He was nervous.

"Yes, I am," Castiel told him. And Dean's grin widened, the apprehension all but vanishing.

Before he could say anything else, Sam walked back into the room pushing a wheelchair. And he really had the worst possible timing. Was that like a specific younger brother skill set that he'd never acquired while growing up? Not that his brothers had ever did anything worth interrupting, but still. _Come on_.

"We're all set," Sam said happily. Blissfully unaware of the possible moment he'd just interrupted. For the second time now. "You ready to go, Dean?"

Dean nodded, still looking at Castiel. "Sure am."

Dean didn't have any problems moving around, but Sam helped him in the chair anyway. Dean only tried to protest and swat him away halfheartedly. He was letting Sam have this. Sam positioned himself behind Dean's wheelchair, placing his hands on the handles.

Dean looked up at Castiel. "This is it," he said.

"It is," Castiel agreed.

Sam began to push him away, but Dean held up a hand to stop him. "Oh, one more thing," he said.

Castiel watched as Dean reached into his pocket and extract a folded up piece of paper. He held it out to Castiel.

"What is this?" Castiel asked, taking it from him. He started to unfold it.

"My phone number," Dean said. And Castiel froze. "You know, so you can call me."

Castiel looked at him and grinned. Dean took that as the go-ahead that he needed, and proceeded to pull Castiel down by the collar and kiss him soundly on the mouth.

In the background, Castiel could hear Sam make some sort of groaning and gagging noise, and when he and Dean pulled apart — far too soon in Castiel's opinion — Sam was staring at them and making a face. But Castiel could tell by the warmth in his eyes that he didn't actually mind that his brother just laid one on his nurse right in front of him. He was probably just happy that Dean was alive and _able_ to do that.

"See ya, Cas," Dean said, releasing him and grinning crookedly.

Castiel gave a small smile of his own. "Goodbye, Dean."

Sam just shook his head and snorted. "We good now?" he asked Dean. "Need to make-out with anyone else before we go?"

Dean nodded, still smiling. "We're great."

He heard Sam snicker as they began to walk away.

"What?" he heard Dean ask.

"You have your very own Dr. Sexy!" Sam said gleefully.

Castiel couldn't see Dean's face, but he could imagine the red tint that it must have taken on. "He's a nurse, and shuddup!"

Castiel ducked his head to hide his smile.

He watched as Sam pushed Dean toward the elevator bank. Sam pushed the down button, and the pair waited for the elevator to come. Castiel pressed a hand to his lips. They were still tingling.

He dug in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cellphone. Then he punched in the number that Dean had just handed him and placed the phone to his ear, waiting as it rang.

He watched from down the hall as Dean dug around in his own pocket and pulled out his phone. He looked down at it and squinted and then he lifted it to his ear.

"Hello?" Castiel heard his voice over the line and saw him mouth the words at the same time.

"Hello, Dean. I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner this Friday."

Dean turned his head toward Castiel. They locked eyes, and Dean grinned at him. "There's nothing I'd rather do, Cas," he said into the phone.

"Good," Castiel said.

"Awesome," Dean agreed. "It's a date."

Then the elevator came, and Sam pushed Dean inside.

Castiel and Dean were still grinning at each other when the doors slid shut.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:Oh my god. I am so happy I finally got around to finishing this. This has been sitting in my drafts folder unfinished for months, and now I finally edited it. Thank you for reading! I hoped you liked it! Leave me a comment and let me know what you thought! I mean, if you're into that sort of thing.<strong>


End file.
